Out of nowhere,a sliver of a song drifts in
Where did I hear it before
The streets of Paris? Where at one time, I walked along the streets with my heart throbbing in my hands
Yes, we always will have Paris
That line from Casablanca resonated…
That immoveable feast… of Hemingway
Gabo slinking around Rue Saint Germain..
James Baldwin setting fire to the Seine with his anger
Only now many years later the flame is catching on in his native land
How can one not love the city of Lights and Love
On my visit on a chilly December evening, walking along the seine
Discussing Gilles de Leuze
I had died and gone to heaven, this must be it..
I have been given great gifts of cities in my life
Melbourne, London, New York, Paris
Walking along Palermo, I was reminded of South Yarra
Paris was waiting for me in other places
I distilled all these cities and condensed them into my
My walks along the Malecon
San cristobal de la Habana
This is the song that brought back memories of Paris..
C'est un beau roman, c'est une belle histoire
C'est une romance d'aujourd'hui
Il rentrait chez lui, là-haut vers le brouillard
Elle descendait dans le midi, le midi
Ils se sont trouvés au bord du chemin
Sur l'autoroute des vacances
C'était sans doute un jour de chance
Ils avaient le ciel à portée de main
Un cadeau de la providence
Alors pourquoi penser au lendemain
Ils se sont cachés dans un grand champ de blé
Se laissant porter par les courants
Se sont racontés leur vies qui commençaient
Ils n'étaient encore que des enfants, des enfants
Qui s'étaient trouvés au bord du chemin
Sur l'autoroute des vacances
C'était sans doute un jour de chance
Qui cueillirent le ciel au creux de leurs mains
Comme on cueille la providence
Refusant de penser au lendemain
Il rentrait chez lui, là-haut vers le brouillard
Elle descendait dans le midi, le midi
Ils se sont quittés au bord du matin
Sur l'autoroute des vacances
C'était fini le jour de chance
Ils reprirent alors chacun leur chemin
Saluèrent la providence
En se faisant un signe de la main
Il rentra chez lui, là-haut vers le brouillard
Elle est descendue là-bas dans le midi
C'est un beau roman, c'est une belle histoire
C'est une romance d'aujourd'hui
A beautiful story
It's a beautiful tale, it's a beautiful story,
It's a romance of today
He was going back home, back up north towards the fog
She was going south to the Midi (south of France)
They found each other on the side on the road,
on the motorway driving to holidays.
It was without a doubt their lucky day
They had the sky at their feet
A gift from providence
So why think of tomorrow
They hid in a big wheat field
Letting themselves be carried by the breeze
They told each other their life stories which were just beginning
They were still only children
Who found each other on the side of the road,
on the motorway driving to holidays.
It was without a doubt their lucky day
They gathered the sky in the palms of their hands
As one gathers providence
Refusing to think of tomorrow
It's a beautiful tale, it's a beautiful story,
It's a romance of today
He was going back home, back up north towards the fog
She was going south to the Midi (south of France)
They found each other on the side on the road,
on the motorway driving to holidays.
Their lucky day was over -
both of them returned to their journeys,
saluting providence by waving
at each other.
He returned back home, up north towards the fog
She went down south, back to the Midi
It's a beautiful tale, it's a beautiful story
It's a romance of today
